


aftermath

by nauticalwarrior



Series: blnt 'verse [3]
Category: better luck next time - Fandom, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalwarrior/pseuds/nauticalwarrior
Summary: what aizawa and todoroki would see after izuku kills himself in the bathroom during the sports festival, from aizawa's pov. this is set in the universe of my longfic better luck next time and will not make sense if you haven't read that. this is not canon for that story!
Series: blnt 'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136582
Comments: 42
Kudos: 525
Collections: better luck next time and related works





	aftermath

Shouta is going to kill his students, when he finds them. His head is aching from a lack of sleep, and he’s  _ already  _ sick of the sports festival, even though they’ve only just finished the first event. It’d been interesting, that’s for sure, but now that they’re supposed to be picking teams for the cavalry battle, both Midoriya and Todoroki, first and second place respectively are missing. It’s frustrating, that’s for sure, and Shouta, as their homeroom teacher, is the one tasked with tracking them down. He’s not sure how they managed to disappear themselves, exactly, given that it’s only been ten minutes, and as he walks through the hallways, he keeps his eyes out for open doors and listens for voices. It’s quiet, mostly, until he hears something that makes him freeze.

Shouta can't make out the words, but he hears what’s clearly a scream coming from just up ahead.  _ The boys’ bathroom _ , his mind supplies as he breaks into a sprint, running for the door and slamming it open, pushing his way into the small bathroom.

The smell hits him first, even before the choked cries coming from the back of the bathroom, even before he sees the red pool of blood spreading along the cracks in the tile. The room smells sickeningly like fresh blood, iron-sharp and salt-thick. Shouta’s smelled it before, smelled it as thick and as awful as this, but never from one person, never from one  _ living _ person. His heart jumps into his throat as he realizes, dully, that he can see two pairs of legs crouched in that pool of blood in the last stall, can see that the door’s been broken open. He’s in the stall before he can truly process what’s going on, and maybe that’s why the sight of it freezes him in place, even after being a hero for twelve years.

The first thing he notices is Todoroki, on his knees in the blood, the dark liquid climbing up the blue and white fabric of his sports uniform. He’s making noises, little whimpering sounds, and his eyes are wide. His hands are clenched over an arm--Midoriya’s arm--, holding a wound that cuts deep into the boy’s forearm, long and vertical and dark. Shouta’s eyes move from Todoroki to Midoriya, to the boy’s limp form, leaned against the wall of the bathroom. His eyes are open but dull, unmoving. His mouth is open slightly, and it almost looks like he’s smiling, just the smaller bit. His other arm, the one Todoroki  _ isn’t _ clinging to, has a similar wound, dark and deep enough that Shouta can see muscle. It isn’t bleeding. Midoriya is so, so pale, and he’s not bleeding, not any more. Shouta hates that he knows what that means. 

“No, no, no,” Todoroki whispers, voice cracking. There’s ice climbing up Midoriya’s arm where he’s holding onto it, freezing blood into the open gash. Shouta can see Todoroki’s fingers pressed into the wound, covered in slick, clotting blood. Todoroki screams again, his voice rough and breaking, and Shouta realizes that he doesn’t even know Shouta’s there. It’s this that snaps Shouta out of his daze, makes him step forward and place a hand on his student’s shoulder.

“Todoroki,” he says, voice as calm and low as he can make it, which is still shaky. “Todoroki, I need you to breathe.” Todoroki turns to look at him, his eyes wide and his pupils tiny pinpricks. He takes in a gasping breath, shaking his head. Shouta can see him tightening his grip on Midoriya’s limp arm, can see his fingers pressing the pale flesh there. The blood that Shouta is now crouching in is already cold to the touch, already half clotted, a gelatinous mess on the floor. Shouta feels like he might be sick. 

“S-Sensei,” Todoroki gasps. “Midoriya, he--” Todoroki turns his head, looks at Midoriya’s face. His own skin pales, then, almost matching Midoriya’s in shade, and he screams again, a wail that burns Shouta’s ears. Shouta reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his phone with shaking hands, and he dials Hizashi’s number because it’s the only person he can think to call right now. 

It only rings up before it picks up with a click, and Shouta remembers, dully, that he’d been sent to find the kids for the sports festival’s second round. It feels stupid, now. Shouta reaches his free hand forward to feel Midoriya’s neck, to search for a pulse, but he knows he won’t find anything even before he brushes against the kid’s skin. He’s not  _ cold _ , but he’s cool to the touch, too cool, and there isn’t a pulse. Shouta isn’t surprised. If his heart was still beating, it wouldn’t have had anything to push around, from the looks of the floor.

“Shouta?” Hizashi says on the other end, his voice high with worry, and Shotua realizes that not only is Todoroki back to whimpering and whispering  _ no _ over and over again, Shouta himself is breathing hard and fast. He forces himself to even out his breaths.

“Hizashi,” he whispers, and it comes out choked. “I found them. Midoriya, he’s--” the words catch in his throat, but he makes himself say them. “He’s dead.”

“What!?” Hizashi replies, his voice stunned and loud and too  _ much _ in Shouta’s ear. He winces, dropping his hand from Midoriya’s neck to move it to Todoroki’s, to check his other student’s pulse, even though he’s right next to him moving and crying, tears running down his face and dripping into the clotting blood below them. It’s making a little puddle of clear in the dark, opaque red, and Shouta can't stop looking at it. He can feel Todoroki’s pulse, hard and fast and warm under his skin, and he thinks that’s the only thing keeping him grounded right now.

“He killed himself, Hizashi,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. “He slit his wrists, there’s--it’s too late. It’s already too late.” He shakes his head, takes a shaky breath. “How did I not see this coming? How did it get to this point and I--I didn’t even notice,” he gasps, forcing his eyes open, forcing himself to stare at Midoriya, stare at the green eyes half lidded and still, too still on his face.

“Shouta,” Hizashi says, firm and solid. “I’m on my way. Nemuri, too. Cementoss is calling Recovery Girl.” Shouta can hear rustling on the other end of the line. “Stay on the phone. Keep talking.”  _ That’s what we were taught to do when civilians called for emergencies,  _ Shouta remembers, distantly. He’s not a civilian, not a victim, but he can’t help but note it’s the right choice to make, here. He’s never lost a student before. He can’t tear his eyes away from Midoriya’s face, once tan and pink and rosy. It looks almost yellow now, except for a smear of blood just under his chin, red turning rusty brown around the edges. Shouta can relate to Todoroki right now, can understand why the boy is just shaking and crying, gripping onto Midoriya’s limp arm. 

“Todoroki,” Shouta makes himself say, moving his hand from where it was on his pulse point to wrap around the boy’s shoulders. Todoroki doesn’t lean into it so much as he  _ collapses _ , his body shaking violently. 

“Midoriya, he--” Todoroki chokes on his words. “H-He told me it’d be okay,” he whispers. “S-Said he’d--he’d come back?” he ends it as a question, and Shouta feels his heart break as Todoroki turns his gaze up to him, those watery eyes asking the question they both already know the answer to.

“He’s not coming back, Todoroki,” Shouta whispers, his voice cracked and broken. “He’s gone.”


End file.
